What Could Have Been: Aliyah
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Chain of events that could have happened had the powers that be been in a different mood while creating the episode Aliyah. Possibly the first of several stories. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

She was different here.

It wasn't the quiet storm raging in her eyes, the pain that had persisted since Gibbs had spoken to her in the hospital. It wasn't the tension that had settled in her shoulders, leaving her stiff and reserved. It wasn't the way she'd isolated herself from the rest of the team, shut them out from her new world of hurt she'd found herself in. It wasn't the way she could barely stand to look a Tony, or the way he was scared to stand too close to her.

It was the way she moved through the deceptively bright halls of Mossad, the way her skin seemed to glow in her native sun. It was the way silent eyes followed her wherever she went, observing her lithe form as she went from room to room, focused entirely on getting to the bottom of her father's involvement in her relationship with Rivkin. It was the way men and women straightened imperceptibly as she passed.

In her years at NCIS, she'd become another one of Gibbs' agents—competent, admired, but still humble and unassuming.

But here, she was different.

Here, Ziva David was a legend.

Gibbs knew it the moment Ziva had commanded the other officers on the tarmac. The woman he'd come to know after her brother's death was _not_ the woman who existed in Israel. As time had passed, Ziva the Mossad Liaison Officer had softened, until she'd blended in with the rest of the team.

A stranger observing them would have seen she was different, but it would not be until she chose to reveal her predatory nature that they would realize just how dangerous she truly was.

But the Mossad knew.

She'd only had to look at one of the drivers on the tarmac for the man to wordlessly relinquish his seat behind the wheel. Amit Hadar hadn't dared let his guard down around her—even in turning his back on her, his shoulders had been stiff, his senses on full alert until he was safe inside the glass walls of the building.

Gibbs wondered what stories had graced these halls, which tales were told to the new recruits. Which feats were whispered on late-night stakeouts, and which were distorted through the constraints of need-to-know? Which rumors left people proud, jealous, or in awe? There must be dozens, he reasoned, watching the hooded gazes that shadowed her movements.

These were not the looks that celebrities get. These officers did not stare because she was simply the Director's daughter. No, these were the stares that followed the unofficial heroes, looks of admiration and the pride to be a colleague. It didn't seem to matter that she'd spent the majority of the past four years in America, that none of them had seen her in months.

They were glad to have her back, regardless of the circumstances.

Gibbs wondered if Ziva was aware of the respect she commanded the moment she entered any given room in the building. She barely glanced at her peers, let alone deigning to acknowledge them with a nod or smile.

She had nothing but rage in her eyes, the entirety of it focused squarely on a total of three individuals—Anthony DiNozzo, Amit Hadar, and Director Eli David.

And God help them all.


	2. Chapter 2

She could feel their gazes. Every time she entered a room, all work paused for a split second, and all eyes would glue themselves to her. She could hear the whispers, the muted voices that pretended to be talking about intercepted transmissions or the latest movements of the more dangerous Hamas cells. But those eyes—their eyes betrayed them.

They burned her skin, scathingly boring into her. Accusing glares followed her wherever she went, in this building that used to fill every waking moment. She'd always been here, whenever she had not been in the field, on assignment. Reading reports or brushing up on her combatives, it didn't matter—she had been a constant presence. She'd learned the building inside and out, until it had become her home.

And now she was a stranger.

The faint unease she'd experienced last summer for those four long months were now intensified tenfold, until it threatened to drown her. She didn't belong here, and the stares that watched her every move only cemented the notion in her mind.

They didn't trust her.

Michael was dead because of her, because she had grown soft in America. There was no denying it—she hadn't been able to see Michael's deception. She'd read the report from LA. He'd had another girlfriend, for the same purpose for which she herself had been used—to defend his continued presence in America.

He'd done nothing wrong, not by Mossad standards. He'd done his role in eliminating a terrorist cell; his work had been impeccable, except that he had gotten complacent. He'd knowingly gotten involved with NCIS, knowing she could vouch for him, and let the OSP lead him straight to his target. He'd allowed his face to grace the cameras of NCIS, and be seen by both Gibbs and Tony.

She should have seen it coming.

She should have gotten there sooner that night. She should have known Tony would try to confront her, should have known he'd run into Michael. She should have been there. She should have forced Michael to go to the Embassy. She should have shut Tony out before he had a chance to even know who Michael was.

She should never have let any of them get close.

She let them blind her. Let them weaken her, let them break down her boundaries. She let them care for her, and they let her care in return. They were like quicksand, except that she'd never realized she was drowning. And that was what had made them all the more dangerous.

She should have known better.

Even now, they all filled her thoughts to the point that she almost didn't notice someone approaching until they were almost on her. She snapped out of her reverie just in time to keep herself from reacting violently to the hand that gently brushed her elbow. She found a pair of familiar hazel eyes looking up at her.

"Hannah," she stated simply, not bothering to insert false surprise to her inflection. She hadn't expected her father's secretary to seek her out, but she didn't feel surprise.

She didn't feel anything.

The smaller woman at her side looked up at her with a schooled expression.

"_Officer David, I must speak with you_," Hannah said in a neutral tone, the melodic flow of their native Hebrew passing easily between them.

"_Not now,_" Ziva responded shortly, impatience rearing its head in her gut. She needed to find the Director, her _father_, and ask him the one question that needed answering.

_Why_.

She tried to brush past the older woman, but the hand on her elbow tightened. Ziva paused, sensing the urgency in the grip on her arm. The urgency broke through the haze that shrouded her—it could only mean one thing, and that one thing was always enough to send adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Her entire focus shifted to the secretary, who took a startled step backwards at the intensity of the dark eyes that zeroed in on her. But the older woman recovered quickly, and her expression returned to its careful mask.

That single slip was enough for Ziva to see the apprehension behind the mask, the urgency that only those with time-sensitive and dangerous information experienced. In an instant, Ziva knew the woman had sought her out deliberately, and that whatever she needed to be told had to be heard.

"_Tell me_."


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs watched carefully as Ziva listened to the woman who had stopped her. He'd seen mild irritation register in his agent—for she was his agent, even if she didn't realize it—before her features had hardened into business mode. He could almost see her hackles go up, and the tension that slowly pervaded her body.

And then Ziva nodded once towards the smaller, elder woman before leaving her behind with an unspoken sense of finality.

Gibbs had thought he'd been watching surreptitiously, but it was made instantly clear that he hadn't fooled anyone when Ziva turned on her heel and stalked towards him, her eyes locking on his for a moment before they scanned the wide room around them. There was a fire burning in her eyes, tempered only by a wariness that made his blood run cold.

When she drew even with him she did not stop, but instead pulled him along with her. He moved without hesitation, matching her powerful strides with steady ones of his own.

"What is it?" he asked softly, his voice low enough to be heard by her alone.

She didn't look at him, instead continuing to scan the crowds around them. "I must get you out of here. All of you must leave the country as soon as possible."

"What have you heard?"

She veered them both into a less crowded venue, but refused to slow. "My father intends to assassinate you and Tony before your visit is out."

"And the Director?"

"He will experience an unfortunate car accident on his way to his hotel this afternoon." Her voice turned into a near-growl. "You must leave immediately. All three of you."

"Why?"

"Was I not speaking English?" Her response was stinging, but distracted. It was evident that the majority of her attention was elsewhere.

"Why is he willing to risk an international incident?"

At this, she almost hesitates, almost breaks stride, but she only gave him a sideway glance that held a hint of derision.

"There will not be any _incident_."

"Three Americans here on official business dies on Israeli soil?"

She scoffed lightly in her throat. "Two Americans with soon-to-be-discovered ties to Al-Qaida and Somalian terrorists, one of whom is responsible for the death of the Mossad officer tasked with eliminating the Somalian cell. The Director's death will be accidental, with no ties to Mossad. There is always the possibility _you_ will be attributed with his demise." She glanced at him sharply as she turned them down another hall. "Where is Tony?"

Instead of voicing a reply, Gibbs pulled out his cell phone. In moments, the man in question was on his way with the NCIS Director to meet them at the north entrance of the building, under strict instruction to speak to no one.

Ziva informed him the north entrance was the exit with the least security, and thereby the safest route to take out of the building. The phone was flipped shut and tucked back into Gibbs' pocket, and a few short minutes later they were under the bright Israeli sun.

Tony and the Director had reached the rendezvous point first, and both stood impatiently just out of sight of the door. Gibbs immediately noticed that while the Director looked outraged, Tony's expression was just as grim and serious as it had been since that night in the hospital. His green eyes were concerned, but he dared not ask Ziva what had her so apprehensive.

The Director had no such qualms.

"David!" he barked sharply. "Gibbs! What the hell—"

"There is no time, Director Vance," Ziva cut him off. Her tone was cold, but held only half the respect there should have been. "You are in danger, as are Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo."

Gibbs saw the senior field agent flinch at the too-formal mention of his name. But he brushed it aside. There was no time.

"Does your father know of this danger?" Vance asked, his tone softening slightly.

"My father _is_ the danger, Director," came the blunt reply.

At that moment, as if on cue, a nondescript SUV came screeching around the corner. Gibbs and Ziva had their guns drawn in a flash, already on edge from their furtive journey through the building. Tony put himself between the Director and the car, pressing the older man against the side of the building as the vehicle screeched to a halt in front of them.

Two guns leveled at the driver's window, though they remained where they were. They watched warily as the driver slowly opened the door, and with a soft proclamation of meaning no harm, stepped out of the vehicle with his hands raised and in clear view.

The keys stayed in the ignition.

"For you, Officer David, as requested through Officer Hannah Guritz," the driver said, stepping aside to allow them unobstructed access to the vehicle.

Ziva hesitated for only a moment, before nodding once at the unfamiliar man.

"Gibbs," she said over her shoulder, lowering her weapon slightly. With that single utterance of his name, Gibbs knew that for whatever reason, she trusted the source of this unexpected gift. Well aware of the growing threat, he moved quickly, holstering his weapon in order to hop into the driver's seat.

He nodded to DiNozzo, who immediately rushed the Director into the car. Gibbs was right behind him, with Ziva hot on his heels. But just as the Director climbed into the vehicle, Gibbs felt the telltale sensation of someone watching them. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but before he could even turn around to identify the source of his uneasiness, a sharp shout from behind sent the world into chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

"GIBBS!"

The end of his name was lost in a cacophony of gunfire that erupted out of nowhere.

Before he could react, something collided into him from behind, sending him stumbling into the car. His head connected with the door frame with a crack, and pain flared through his skull. For a moment, he was certain he'd been hit, but when the pain of a gunshot wound never came, he knew in his gut something even more grievous had happened.

The world slowed down, and the _tatatatat _of automatic gunfire seemed to last an eternity before the first pause came. It was only then that he was finally able to turn to check on his team.

DiNozzo had crouched instinctively, slamming the door closed behind the Director, to serve as a barrier against the unexpected gunfire. From what he could see, his agent was unharmed, and no bullet holes perforated the door the Director had disappeared behind. But the senior agent squatted too far from Gibbs to have been the one to shove him out of danger.

Then, with a sinking heart, Gibbs turned another ninety degrees.

And there, just two feet behind him, Ziva lay sprawled on the pavement.

For a moment, she seemed as though she had fainted.

She'd managed to turn her head at the last moment, so that she did not break her nose on her way down. One arm was trapped beneath her, pinned between her abdomen and the hard surface of the street. The side of her face Gibbs could see was unmarred, but her eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping. Her black blouse disguised the damage that had been dealt, for the first long second he saw her broken form.

But then the jagged edges of the ripped fabric stood out glaringly in his vision, and then the fabric became soaked in what could only be blood.

She'd been hit.

When he saw the blood that pooled beneath her, he knew that at least one of the rounds had been a through and through. For a long moment, he feared she was already dead, but then, like music to his ears, she groaned, then coughed harshly against the sudden pain that accosted her. Her free hand moved to press against the concrete, weakly attempting to push herself to her feet.

And then Gibbs felt the eyes on him again, and he looked up to find Eli David staring at them both from across the street. His eyes burned with the cold rage of one whose plans had been thwarted, and even had there not been another officer standing beside him with an automatic rifle, chills still would have run down Gibbs' spine.

Gibbs knew at that point that he had been the target—Ziva had taken the bullets meant for _him_.

And then the rifle was leveled at him once more, and the world snapped back into focus.

"GET IN THE CAR!"

Tony moving even before Gibbs' bellow echoed through the alley, yanking the door open to slide in beside Vance. With nothing but adrenaline and pure instinct prompting his actions, Gibbs hooked an unceremonious arm under Ziva shoulders and yanked her towards the car.

She uttered a guttural moan as his efforts put pressure on her injuries, but there was nothing he could do for her. He could tell she was still barely conscious, and there was no time to take extra precautions. Either he got her in the car, or they all died. And so his movements were clumsy and fumbling as he maneuvered her into the passenger seat next to him.

The first of the gunfire peppered the car door moments after Gibbs slammed it closed, making Gibbs instantly grateful for the bullet-resistant metal the car's frame had been manufactured from.

He slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and then they were squealing away from the Mossad. Navigating the crowded streets was not unlike traversing DC at rush hour, and Gibbs found himself able to finally take a moment to wrap his head around what had just happened. With a quick glance to his right, he saw Ziva's head rolling limply on her neck as she fought her way into full consciousness.

His eyes darted back to the road, his gut burning with the knowledge that she was now hurting because of him. She had deliberately shoved him out of harm's way. Those bullets that were now somewhere inside her body—he didn't know how many there were, or how many passed through—had been meant for him.

It made sense. Tony was an unexpected challenge, and Vance an obstacle, but Gibbs was seen as a viable threat to Eli's control. It made sense for Eli to eliminate him first. The rest would have been easy to mop up as collateral damage. But Ziva had saved him, though her actions had resulted in being gunned down by her own father.

But there was no time to think about it, no time to thank her, even if she could hear him. Somehow, he didn't know how, he managed to get them away from Mossad. He took random turns and refused to stop for anything. The traffic and buildings thinned out around them, he knew they were on their way out of the city.

Something tugging at his belt caught Gibbs' attention, and he looked down to see shaking fingers attempting to pull his cell phone from its holster. Ziva had somehow managed to push herself away from the door she'd slumped up against during one of many of the careening turns he'd forced the SUV through, leaving sanguine smudges on the window and the armrest protruding from the plastic interior surface.

She was pale, too pale, and her eyes were barely able to focus against the pain. But her face was a mask of woozy determination, and her fumbling fingers refused to be dissuaded from their target. Once the phone was in her hands, she collapsed sideways against the seat, coughing breathlessly from the exertion. She had to wait several long moments before she had the breath to open the phone and punch a few numbers sharply into the display.

Gibbs kept his eyes on the road as she first listened, and then began to speak in a raspy Hebrew. He caught only a _ken_ and a _lo_, with something that sounded vaguely like _America_ thrown in. The rest of it was unintelligible, obscured by his ignorance of the language, and the pain that clouded her voice. He let her work, knowing that despite her injuries, her mind was still clear. Her conversation was clipped and short, but seemed lucid enough.

But as the conversation progressed, Gibbs could see that she was having increasingly more difficulty keeping her eyes open.

Fear gripped Gibbs, and looking in the rearview mirror, he could tell that Tony had noticed her deteriorating condition as well, but when the younger man tried to reach over the seat to offer aid, she flinched away from his touch, and he quickly withdrew his hands.

But the threat was there—if she lost the battle to stay awake, it would only be a matter of time until she lost the fight to keep breathing. It was that realization that prompted Gibbs to spin the car around, and head back into the city.

The motion seemed to bring Ziva back into focus, as she snapped the phone shut with a quick _toda_ and glared at Gibbs.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

Gibbs didn't take his eyes from the road. "Taking you to a hospital."

"No—"

"You need medical attention!" he growled.

"Nothing will be helped by going to a hospital!" she said forcefully back to him, her voice stronger than he would have thought possible. "They will already have armed guards at all the major medical centers, and it will only be a matter of time until they track this vehicle."

"Then we'll switch cars—"

"There is no time for that! We must return to the airfield. There will be a helicopter waiting that will take you to Paris. Once there, you will be able to take refuge at the American consulate."

She coughed wetly, a harsh, ugly sound that made Gibbs' gut twist painfully. For a moment, she gasped for breath, but if anything, it only made her following words more striking.

"If you do not leave now, the only way you will ever leave will be in a body bag."

Gibbs' jaw clenched painfully. The air thickened in his lungs, and he had to struggle to keep his breaths even. She was giving him a statement of fact, but he knew that because _he_ was the one at the wheel, he had decision to make. He had to choose—saving her life, or saving the lives of himself, DiNozzo, and Vance.

It was either her, or the team.


	5. Chapter 5

His heart sank at the choice presented to him, the weight of it settling over his shoulders. But a moment later, he blinked heavily, and erected an impenetrable barrier around his emotions. It was not the first time he had done so, and he knew it would not be the last. He needed logic here, regardless of what he wanted to do. Once his emotions were contained, the decision was clear—he would do as she said.

"Where's the air field?" he asked bluntly, his voice void of inflection.

Almost inaudibly, Ziva sighed in relief, only to hiss in pain as Gibbs drove over a pothole. "It should be the third location programmed into the GPS navigator."

Gibbs tossed the navigator back to Tony, who managed to turn it on and guide him through the twisting streets of Tel Aviv. It seemed to take hours, but when he glanced at the clock, only fifteen minutes had passed by the time they reached their destination. Ziva had closed her eyes half way there, but woke with a start when the SUV bumped its way over the small curb and onto the tarmac.

"The helicopter," she whispered. "Go to the helicopter."

Gibbs obeyed, and soon enough he'd found the airstrip in question. Two pilots were sprinting under and around the slowly spinning blades, prepping the aircraft as quickly as they could. Skidding to a stop, Gibbs turned to DiNozzo with a hard look.

"Get the Director to the chopper," he ordered, throwing his door open and exiting the vehicle. Once Tony had joined him, his voice lowered. "Do not leave the Director for any reason, DiNozzo. He is the priority. You get him to the chopper and you stay there."

For a moment, Tony looked as though he was going to protest, but something in Gibbs' eyes must have dissuaded him. He nodded grimly and headed for the chopper. Gibbs wasted no time in crossing around to the passenger side front door, passing Vance as he did so, when he noticed that Ziva had made no move to exit the car.

He opened the door, and was immediately confronted with an unobstructed view of the damage the gunfire had done. Her back was a mess of tattered flesh, cloth, and blood. He counted four GSWs, all of which were still slowly leaking blood, coating the leather seat beneath her and dripping from the edge of the seat to pool on the floor of the vehicle. One was centered along her spine, just above her hips, and he knew from the shards of bone peeking from it that it had penetrated her spinal cord.

She was trembling when Gibbs leaned forward and gathered her in his arms once more. The pressure on her wounds, no matter how he tried to avoid them, elicited a sharp groan of pain. But she didn't resist him as he lifted her from the car, and she didn't try to help him bear her weight. Her legs were limp and heavy against his left arm, without even a twitch at the pain.

The bullet had damaged her spine—she probably couldn't even feel her legs anymore.

For a moment, it seemed as though he would get her to the helicopter, but as he continued to carry her, her breaths came increasingly more quickly, until it took all of her energy to utter a soft plea.

"No, Gibbs," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. "Stop, please._"_

He almost ignored her, but something in her tone made him pause. A moment's hesitation passed, and then he was obeying, kneeling to set her down on the sun-warmed tarmac. He refused to entirely relinquish his hold on her though, and he kept his arms around her torso, cradling her gently.

"C'mon, Ziver," he whispered. "We're almost to the chopper." She shook her head, but he continued speaking. "We can get you help, we can have an ambulance waiting in Paris." But even as he said it aloud, he knew there would be no ambulance.

It would be too late.

"I will not make it that far, Gibbs," she returned softly. "You know it as well as I."

"No, Ziver…"

"Please, Gibbs," she whispered. "I have played my part. Now you must play yours. Get the others to safety, and never return to this place." She paused to take a shallow breath. "Live."

"Ziva—" This time, it was a chilled hand on his cheek that caused him to fall silent once more. Her fingers were unnaturally cool, clammy, a stark contrast the Israeli heat pressing against his skin.

She was losing too much blood. He was losing her.

"Thank you," she rasped, a wet gurgle resounding deep within her chest, "for teaching me to be the person who can make this sacrifice. For teaching me that there is more to life than death."

"No, Ziva," he responded softly. "No, you knew it already."

"But you taught me it was okay to care. I thought there was nothing more to this world than my father's orders—I am glad to know otherwise."

Gibbs fought to keep tears from spilling down his cheeks. "It's been an honor, Ziver," he whispered, his voice thick. "You woulda made one hell of an agent."

The smallest of smiles graced her pained features.

"Maybe next time," she whispered. But then she clenched her jaw against a wave of pain that sent a muted groan between her teeth. But she wasn't yet finished. "Gibbs…"

"Yeah, Ziver."

"Tell Tony…" she fought to reclaim her breath. Her eyes clenched against the pain. "Tell Tony that I am mad at him—but I do not hate him. I would have gotten over it, given time—"

But of course, there was no time. The one thing everyone thought they had until the last of it was slipping through your fingers.

"Do not let this destroy him," she continued. "Please."

"I don't know if I can do that, Ziver."

How could he? How could he keep the younger man whole, if leaving her here like this threatened to break his own heart into thousands of pieces? He'd already buried one daughter. And now he was leaving another behind— again to die alone.

"You must. You must all move on. Do not mourn me—I have done nothing to earn it." Before he could protest her words, to tell her she was worth a lifetime of mourning, she was coughing again. This time, fine drops of blood spattered onto her lips. Something had nicked her lungs.

It wouldn't be long now, and they both knew it.

He heard the helicopter engine rumble louder behind him—they were ready to take off. They were waiting for him. Moving slowly, he pulled his 9 mm from it holster, and then pressed it into her trembling hand. When her fingers tightened on the grip, he let it go to bring his hand up to gently cup her cheek. By now the sleeve of his shirt had been soaked through with her blood, but he barely noticed. Her skin was clammy, with a sickening grey pallor tingeing the skin around her eyes.

"Kelly was lucky to have you for a father," she whispered, her eyes closing briefly in obvious exhaustion.

Gibbs took a deep breath, fighting the tightness in his chest that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Tell them hi for me," he whispered.

She smiled, giving a light scoff from deep in her throat. "If I see them," she promised.

She didn't need to point out just how big an _if_ she believed that to be. But Gibbs knew better.

"You'll see them," he corrected her. "And you'll see your family."

"I hope not."

"Don't say that—"

"I became everything Tali did not want me to be. I killed Ari. When my mother died, she could barely stand to look at me."

A single tear finally worked its way free of her lids, and Gibbs felt his own trace its way down his cheek. Before he could say anything more, the distant sound of tires squealing reached their ears.

They'd been found.

Brown eyes met blue, and the two shared a certainty that did not need to be voiced.

Ziva's free hand reached up, and encircled the golden pendant that hung from her throat. With a yank, she pulled it from her neck, deftly snapping the chain before pressing the star into his palm. He received it with obvious reluctance.

"Take it," she requested softly. "Please." He could hear her voice tremble with emotion. "Do not forget me."

Gibbs felt his heart rend in two as she finally let the scared, vulnerable little girl she'd been hiding for years come to the surface. Wide brown eyes looked up at him, finally devoid of all the barriers she'd relied on all her life.

But then squealing tires could be heard once more, and then the shields came crashing down again, her expression hardening once more.

"This ends here," she declared, her voice strong in its determination. She pulled the gun closer to her chest, and Gibbs knew in an instant what she intended to do.

He nodded once in understanding. It was all he could do. He made no move to leave her.

"Go," she told him, as the sound of tires on tarmac encroached ever closer. Still, he hesitated. "GO!"

Her forceful order spurred him into action. He gently lowered her shoulders to the tarmac. Her grunt of pain twisted his already bleeding heart, but one look to her hardened expression told him that she knew that any attempt to ease her pain would be futile. She would not live long enough for it to make a difference.

He paused a moment longer before getting to his feet, reaching down to smooth the flyaway hairs from her face. Then, reverently, he leaned down to press a kiss to her brow. He pulled back slightly, looking her in the eye.

"Thank you, Ziver."

She looked up at him, her lips pressed tightly together against the emotion that threatened to work its way free. Then, she reiterated her desperate plea.

"_Go_."


	6. Chapter 6

This time, finally, Gibbs obeyed. Getting to his feet, he caught a glimpse of the first black SUV come into view. But then he turned away and sprinted to the waiting helicopter. He didn't look back until he'd given the pilot the signal to take off.

He didn't dare look at DiNozzo as he felt the chopper begin to move, but that didn't keep the man from voicing his confusion and growing panic.

"Boss," came the uncertain query. "One short?"

Gibbs didn't respond, unable to tear his eyes away from the prone figure lying on the tarmac, alone and abandoned.

"No," Tony murmured, correctly interpreting his boss' silence. "No!"

He abandoned his seat next to the Director, desperately scrambling to open the hatch and race back to his partner. When Gibbs put himself between his senior field agent and the door, the younger man tried to shove him out of the way.

"No, Boss!" he declared forcefully. "We're one short— We can't leave her! Move—!"

"It's what she wants!" Gibbs shouted, raising his voice to be heard over the desperation in the other man's voice. He planted his hands on his agent's shoulders, steadying him as he looked the younger man in the eye. "She wants this."

"She'll die!"

"She'll die if she comes with us," Gibbs told him. "Allow her this one last favor, DiNozzo. Let her die here, in her homeland— the country she spent her life protecting." Try as he might, he couldn't keep his voice from breaking. "We owe it to her to honor her sacrifice."

Tears spilled over the agent's cheeks, uncontrollable and unashamed. His heartbreak was evident, even to Vance, who watched silently from his seat next to the bulkhead. It was not his place to offer guidance here—Ziva had never been his agent. She'd been brought in under Director Shepard, and remained under the tutelage of Agent Gibbs. He'd had nothing to do with Officer David, and perhaps that had been his mistake.

Maybe, if he had, he would have been able to foreseen the cluster Rivkin's arrival in America had created.

Two pairs of eyes silently watched the younger man break down, the world—and Ziva's broken body—falling away as the helicopter lifted them all to safety.


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva heard the blades of the helicopter speed up, lifting the aircraft into the air. Relief flooded her as she realized her family was safe. The rush of comfort it afforded her dulled the pain that radiated from her wounds that pressed against the tarmac, and bolstered her determination as the ominous platoon SUVs—there were three total, she counted— screeched to a stop less than ten feet away.

With a laborious heave, she managed to roll herself onto her side, and then pushed herself into a sitting position. Her body protested with every nerve ending she had, but she shoved it away. It was easier than she thought it would be, but then again, there was a clouded fuzziness to the edge of her vision, cluing her in to the growing deterioration of her senses.

It wouldn't be long now.

She could let go at any moment and find true peace, she knew, but she had one last task to complete before she did so. She waited, hunched, weak but ready, as expensive Italian shoes stepped out of the lead SUV. It was a new pair, she noted, having seen them earlier in the day when she had first seen her father. She had never understood her father's desire for expensive shoes, but it became an easy way to identify him.

The shoes looked odd—almost absurd, in this country that was still essentially a desert. They sounded different, with the leather squeaking and squawking with each step he took. They even smelled, like musty cologne that always tainted the air around him. She had never been a fan of impractical footwear, and these were certainly impractical. One could not run in them, or deliver as powerful a kick as one could with decent combat boot.

They were only for show, she realized as those white shoes came to a stop in front of her, and her glance lifted to rest on her father's face.

Just as it had always been, everything was always about appearances. Even now, her death would serve as an example for the officers that poured out of the other two SUVs, flanking him on either side. They surrounded her with their hands resting warily on their weapons. But their presence faded out of her awareness as her father's glance finally left the departing helicopter to rest heavily on her gasping form.

"I am disappointed in you_, bat_," he said simply, his voice void of compassion and concern.

She tried to scoff, but blood filled her mouth. She choked for a moment before managing to spit the coppery fluid onto the tarmac.

"And I you, Papa." The endearment was more of snarl, vicious and scathing with such intensity that the other officers shifted their gazes nervously between her and their Director. "Resorting to cloaks and daggers to take care of a few weak Americans. And when you finally decide to risk bringing your schemes to light, the only one you manage to hit is your own daughter." She smirked, even as she swayed dangerously. "You have failed, Director."

"Have I, Ziva?" came the emotionless reply. "You may have helped them to flee the country, but there is nowhere in America that they could hide. Even Rivkin, the drunken bastard that he was, managed to kill an American agent. He could have killed everyone at that meeting, you know that. And the only reason Ari failed to kill Gibbs four years ago was your presence—your keen desire to follow orders."

"The orders I fully intended to disobey?" Finally, she saw something akin to anger flit across his features. "If Ari had not gone back for Gibbs, he would have found himself in a safe house in Paris. He told Gibbs what you were. The things you had done. His mother—" Ziva coughed suddenly, the force of it almost sending her back down to the tarmac. "I killed him to protect Gibbs," she continued. "Fulfilling your _orders_ was just a convenient coincidence."

Echoes of a conversation on a ship echoed in her ears. _Doinkacoink,_ she had said once, trying to mimic the word she had heard. Tony had corrected her, though the supposedly correct combination of syllables had not made any more sense than her own rendition.

_Tony_.

Her gut twisted painfully— or maybe it was the sensation of her lungs filling blood. Tony would be devastated. She had never told him, never explained… And now she never would. She had forgotten to remind Gibbs to make sure Tony did not drink. It took him almost all summer to get over Jenny. But this… this could kill him, if Gibbs did not know about the alcohol.

But Gibbs was astute, observant. He would know. He would see the signs. She had to trust that he would.

She saw the rage burn in her father's eyes, and the sight of it sent waves of satisfaction through her broken body. But when he spoke, there was nothing more than a controlled annoyance in his voice, as though he were speaking to any other lackey who had failed to meet his expectations.

"And who will protect Gibbs when you are dead, Zivaleh? Who will be there to watch over them, look over their shoulders for them? Because you of all people know that I get what I want—and I eliminate what I do not."

His words sparked something inside her, and in an instant, the pain and growing weakness in her limbs vanished. Her hand flashed, and then before the other officers could even react, the 9mm pistol in her hand was leveled at her father's head.

Unsurprisingly, Eli was just as quick, and had his own Beretta leveled back at her before his entourage could even draw their weapons. The air seemed to grow thick as the tension mounted, the standoff between father and daughter persisting despite her obvious injuries. The others watched on, guns at the ready, with a mix of shock and unease. Not one of them could deny feeling as though they were intruding—the confrontation was as much between father and daughter as it was between Director and Officer.

"I will not give you that chance," Ziva declared.

Eli David smirked. "In a few minutes, you will not have a say in the matter. You will be dead, and you will be able to do nothing."

To his surprise, her brown eyes never wavered from her target. Her hand was steady, and Eli knew her aim was true. Her pallid features hardened as bloodstained lips formed one last sentence.

"Then we will leave this world together."


	8. Chapter 8

Gibbs watched silently from above, given clear view of the scene unfolding below.

Watching the officers converge on Ziva's broken form, it seemed like the pivotal scene in an overrated action film. In a movie, Ziva would suddenly get to her feet, and miraculously succeed in eliminating each and every one of the new threats that surrounded her. Her father would watch on in shock, until Ziva finally turned her fury on him. And then Eli would have no time to question what had gone wrong with his world-ending plot before he died.

But this wasn't a movie plot—overrated or otherwise.

This was real life, real time.

Ziva didn't get to her feet. In fact, Gibbs could see that she was exerting most of her energy just to remain sitting upright. Vicious coughs wracked her body, and then blood was spat to the tarmac—more evidence that her lungs were failing.

And then, the devil in white stalked through the sea of black shirts, coming to a stop only when he was aligned with Ziva's position, no doubt taking in the failure she had inevitably become. Gibbs could not see Ziva's face, but seeing Eli's lips move in short, sharp bursts told him that father and daughter were conversing. Blue eyes memorized every curl and sneer of those Hebrew-speaking lips, wondering how a father could ever talk to his child that way.

He'd gotten upset with Kelly before, exasperated and frustrated, and yes, he had yelled at his daughter.

But never so demeaning, never so coldly.

With a pang of guilt, Gibbs wondered if he had seemed as such, the first time she'd come into their lives at NCIS. Not when she became Liaison, that much was certain. By then she'd had his trust. But when she was trying to protect Ari, seeming so aloof and superior—had his tone ever been so condescending as Eli's lips looked at this moment? Had his eyes ever been so coldly calculating?

He couldn't say for sure.

But before another thought could cross his mind, the scene below him drastically altered. A flash was all he saw, and then Ziva and Eli were aiming their weapons at each other. Gibbs heard Tony suck in a breath, felt the younger man stiffen beside him. Smirking lips framed more words, finally curling into a smug, satisfied smirk.

And then, the real world ended.

Time went on, the Earth kept turning.

But the world perceived by Leroy Jethro Gibbs ceased to be real.

The scene would replay itself in his head for months and years to come. He would forever remember the muffled double fire that somehow made its way past the _thupthupthup _of the helicopter's propellers, the sight of Ziva's dark head jerking backwards with the force of the bullet. His nightmares would show him flashes of the dark spray of blood that shadowed the pavement behind her for a split second before she fell and the halo of blood covered all.

But at that moment what stuck out to him the most was the sight of her hand falling limply to the tarmac, the gun he'd given her slipping from her lax fingers. Her body was instantly still, her struggle to breathe over for good.

He saw it as clear as day, every minute detail, but it was as though his mind couldn't process it properly. It happened inches from his eyes, and yet it seemed as though he were miles away. And though all he saw was her, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was not the only one to fall.

There had been a splash of red on white, and a grey haired head had snapped back. Chino-clad legs crumpled, and Eli David had dropped like a stone to the tarmac. A muddy puddle of blood framed his head, revealing the precision of Ziva's single shot, accurate to the last.

She'd done it.

She'd fulfilled her final vow.

It had ended on her terms. She'd ended her father's reign of tyranny, and by so doing had ensured that the family she had chosen as her own would forever be free from his clutches. No one would come hunting. Too many witnesses had been present at Eli's death for anyone to try blaming the Americans for the Director's death.

Vaguely, Gibbs wondered which of the two bloody corpses left behind would be considered the martyr of the Mossad.

The demon in holy man's white, or the angel in black?

He barely noticed that the chopper had finally left Israel and its single true treasure behind. He didn't notice the passage of time, or that he'd turned around to sit properly in the seat available to him. He didn't see the Eiffel Tower grow in the distance, and when he set foot on Parisian soil, he didn't feel the rush of nostalgia that usually accosted him when he thought of the city of romance.

All he saw was Ziva, bloody and broken like a shattered porcelain doll. He stared into eyes that could be so expressive, now and forever glassy—as empty as the body left behind.

Alone, abandoned.

And with the scene playing over and over in his mind, Gibbs realized that it was truly over. He had witnessed it with his own eyes. He'd said his goodbyes. He would not be able to hide in the possibility that the news of her death was fake, as he had for Shannon and Kelly. This time, he knew it was reality.

He'd born witness to her demise.

He knew it to be the Gods honest truth.

Just as abruptly as she'd slipped into their lives, she'd slipped right back out again.

She was gone, though the legend of Ziva David would persist. Those officers of Mossad, those whose eyes had followed her... they would remember her and honor her memory, her sacrifice, her success. They would remember her feats, and her loyalty. Her devotion would be talked about for years to come.

But NCIS—they would remember Ziva David.

Not the legend, not the stories. They would remember _her_— Ziva David. They would remember the woman she trusted them enough to reveal from behind years' worth of layered defenses. They would honor the friend, the sister, the confidant, and the guardian they'd all come to love.

They'd remember the heart behind the legend that was Ziva David.

Their angel in black.


End file.
